So much
has been sloughed
off in the growing
old of aging.
Older, always older
a full tension between
the pressures of
collapse and decay.
What we call
wisdom is
a deciding
not to repeat the
the many, many
things that waste
what time
we hope we
might have left.
Might a rabbit
have any real knowing
of its end before
the final
hawk-fall and the
tightening of the
claw on the fur and
the tearing of
the talon through
the muscle.
A mighty grip,
then off.
She will have
no such wisdom
to live from
today. Might
that she had been
fully-lived
before her flight.
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